Last Night
by wantthefireback
Summary: Buffy and Spike have been friends since the beginning of high school, despite their differences. One night will change how they see each other.
1. Bring on the Night

I'm only going to say this once: I don't own these characters, I didn't create them. Buffy and Co. belong to Joss and Mutant Enemy.

Spike looked in the mirror. It was wrong, all wrong. This wasn't the way he wanted her to see him. He glanced at the clock on the wall, he still had an hour. Grabbing his leather duster, he sauntered out the door.

Buffy was lost in thought on the moving sidewalk. The strap of her bag was slipping off her shoulder as she twisted a loose strand of hair between fingers whose nails had been bitten to the quick. Why was she here, again?

Spike stood waiting at the subway platform. An old lady next to him warily took in his appearance. The train arrived and they boarded the crowded car. Spike stood menacingly in front of a student sprawled in a seat. Scared, the kid stood up and offered Spike his place, retreating to the other side of the car. Spike turned to the elderly woman, gesturing for her to sit down.

Buffy nervously chewed her lower lip. She wasn't sure what she was looking for. Surely he wouldn't look the same as he had six years ago when they'd last seen each other. She felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned around. Relief flooded through her. Some things never change.

Spike was overjoyed. There she was, looking up at him. She hadn't changed much, her cheeks were thinner and her green eyes stood out more against skin that was a few shades paler than what he recalled. At first she looked ecstatic, then immediately she tensed.

Buffy had no idea what to say. 'Thank you' came to mind, but it didn't begin to express the depth of what she felt. He was saving her. And there was no reason for him to do so.

"Hey, what are you doing here?"

"Heard that an old friend was coming to town."

"Are they here yet?"

He smiled broadly, blue eyes twinkling. "Hi Buffy," he said, drawing her into a tight hug.

"Hi Spike," she replied, her voice muffled against his chest. He smelled of leather and cigarettes. Spike smell. Years after they'd said their goodbyes, it was still as dear to her as home. "Thank you."

He could hear the emotion thickening her voice and he wondered what had driven her across the continent to a city she didn't know. "Anytime, pet. Now, let me show you my city."

She smiled wanly up at him. "I'm tired. How about just showing me your apartment tonight?"

He swept his arm grandly as they came through his front door. "Welcome to my humble abode."

Buffy dropped her bags to look around in wonder. "Not so humble. How do you afford a place like this?"

"I'm good at my job. Plus, rent-control is God's gift to New Yorkers. Really though, compared to most of the other apartment buildings on this block, this place is just a hole-in-the-wall."

"That may be but this is the quintessential New York bachelor's pad. Oh God," she stared hard at him. "You're still a bachelor, right?"

He laughed. "Course I am, Buffy. I'm too young to settle down, and I intend to stay that way indefinitely."

There was an awkward pause.

"So, what's for dinner?"

"New York pizza."

"Nothing else would be acceptable for my first night in the Big Apple."

Later, she sat at his vintage formica table with the pizza box in front of her. Buffy looked around his kitchen. One wall was brick, and through the window she could see the top of the streetlamp outside. The other walls were plaster painted a bright white, the cupboards were dark mahogany and counters a blue-gray slate. His refrigerator and stove were brushed steel. He must be very good at his job, she decided. It was a surprise, Spike being as successful as he was. He was never a brilliant student, but then again, he never applied himself, either. He'd always thought himself above the system.

Spike watched her taking in her surroundings as he got out plates and napkins. He felt proud knowing she was impressed. He felt proud knowing Buffy was impressed. He was much better off than he ever expected to be.

"What'll you have to drink with dinner, Madame?"

"Oh, I'm afraid I didn't see the drinks menu. What are my options?" She smiled at him flirtatiously, making him blink.

He went on with the game, "Beer, red wine, Coke, Jack Daniels, or milk."

"If the wine's already open, I'll have a glass of that."

"Red wine it is. Tonight we have Yellow Tail shiraz, an excellent vintage."

"Hmmm," she said adopting a snooty tone, "it really is the only thing one should drink when dining on pizza." He poured two glasses then sat down with her. Buffy picked up her slice, folded it lengthways and shoved half of it into her mouth. She chewed, swallowed it down and followed with a gulp of her wine. Spike nodded approvingly before doing the same with his.

A bottle and a half later, they found themselves lounging on his plush sofa, laughing uproariously.

"Spike," she said, slurring his name and gasping for air through the tears streaming down her face, "You dated that moron?"

Spike, alternating between giggles and hiccups replied "Yep. And she was the worst shag of my life!"

This sent Buffy into another fit of hysterics. "Harmony Kendall!" she crowed, "Oh, that's beautiful."

He looked at her, breathless and contorted with joy, grabbing at her stomach. "No, pet, you're beautiful."

Buffy blinked through her alcoholic haze as his face drew nearer. "Spike?" she whispered before his lips pressed into hers. She felt a new flush of warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the wine. Her hands came up to stroke his cheeks, his hair as they continued to kiss. Tentatively she opened her mouth, tasting the wine on his lips and tongue.

He kept his eyes open out of sheer wonderment. He didn't have a clue why she was suddenly so golden and lovely or why he wanted so badly to hold and kiss her until they were both dizzy. He leaned her further back, drawing Buffy's legs up on the cushions so that they were both lying on the couch. Spike felt like he was in high school again and reveling in it. He rested his thigh between hers and ran a hand up one jean-clad leg.

She tilted her hips up slightly towards his pelvis and broke the kiss to draw in a ragged breath as his hand continued on to her breast. Buffy opened her eyes as Spike trailed kisses down her neck and collarbone, almost moaning at the wonderful sensations he was eliciting. She tugged at the hem of his shirt.

He stopped and looked at her questioningly. How far would they be taking this? After a moment's pause, she brought her lips into a line and, reaching down to the edge of her own sweater, arched her back and pulled it off.

He took in the sight of the woman in front of him and what she was offering. He sobered up in an instant and made his decision. Standing, he gave her his hand, helping her to her feet. He led her into his room. Shutting the door, he pulled her close, running a hand down her back. Her skin was so soft and warm, and Spike fought the impulse to rip away her remaining clothes. She tilted her face up to his, green eyes shining, cheeks flushed; swiftly he crushed his lips to hers.

They kissed until the world spun out of control and crashed down around them, tangled in blankets and bed sheets and their own sweaty limbs.

She lay in bed next to him, playing with his lighter. Flick. That little spurt of yellow flame. So hot that at the center it burned bright blue, like the eyes that were now opening and focusing on her. A smile played across his features.

"Morning, love." His arm snaked around her neck, pulling her down for a kiss. She melted into him, pressed against his chest, her thoughts spinning around that kiss. How long had it taken for them to reach that point of contact? How long had it taken for them to finally find some semblance of completion?


	2. Living Conditions

There once was a little girl. The girl was five, curled on the couch with her mother. They held a book between them, and her mother read to her. Westley and Buttercup were racing through the Fire Swamp, fending off Rodents of Unusual Sizes and avoiding spurts of flame that danced at their feet. Suddenly Buttercup was swallowed up by the ground, and the little girl's whole body tensed.

Her mother drew the little girl closer to her. "What happens next?" Her mother prompted.

"Westley saves her." Came the reply.

"Are you sure?" A vigorous nod from the child. "Why?"

"Because he loves her."

"That's right, baby."

Something dawned on the tow-headed child. "Mommy, Daddy doesn't love us anymore, does he?"

Though she could not see it, her mother's eyes must have filled with tears, because the words she next spoke were heavy with emotion, "Oh, yes, your Daddy loves you, baby. He loves you so much. He and Mommy just need to spend some time apart. He loves you, don't ever doubt that."

The child settled back into the curve of her mother, whose hand shook as she turned the page and whose voice was thick as she began to read again. As a drop of moisture spilled onto the page, she turned her face up to her mother's. "I love you as much as Westley loves Buttercup, Mommy."

"Yes baby, I know you do. And I love you even more than that."

There was once a little girl, and nine years later her mother was gone. Swallowed by lightning sand, by the great maw of cancer. All the love in the world couldn't have saved her, ravaged as she was, torn and stitched back together like a rag doll. She was barely able to smile because her beautiful lips cracked so severely. The last week, her daughter had climbed up on the narrow hospital bed with her, their weathered old copy of The Princess Bride in her hands. She had curled her new womanly form around her wasted mother and read to her of a love that could withstand everything, including death. She was there with her father on the day her mother passed away, had watched the breath leave her without even the faintest struggle. Had cried into his shoulder as the bile rose in her throat.

It was cruel, being left by the one she thought could never leave her; left to the one who would always leave her. Irrationally, she believed that if her father had stayed, if he had loved her mother enough, she wouldn't have succumbed to the devouring mass that had laid waste first to her breasts and then her entire lymphatic system. And now this man, who wasn't enough, was the only person she had left in the world. She clung to him even as she despised him. And he clung to her, the living reminder of the beautiful woman he always regretted losing.

They moved shortly after her death. Her father had come home one day with the news that his firm was opening another branch in a smaller town some fifty miles away, and that a house and substantial pay raise were available to him if he were to take the position. It was easy for her to leave. She and her friends had difficulty relating now. She was fourteen and about to start high school. There was an ache in her chest like a stone.

There was once a little girl, only now she was older, who had no clue about how to start up a conversation with someone she didn't know.

"Off to war sometime soon?"

He'd startled beside her in the lunch line, his blue eyes wide. Realizing that her comment was directed at him, he looked down at the combat boots he was wearing. Much to his chagrin, he'd blushed before coming up with a passable retort. "Yeah, what's it to you?"

Uh-oh, not the right tactic, she thought. Retreat! "I'm sorry, that was a bit bitchy. Bad Buffy, play nice." She reprimanded herself to him. "I was just trying to, well, I don't know, make conversation. I'm new, so I thought I'd do the whole sarcastic funny thing. Usually works." And now I'm trying the babbling thing, apparently.

"Buffy?" He raised a dark eyebrow. "Nice name." His lips twisted over his teeth as he spat out the words.

"At least I have one," she teased.

"Spike Giles. Spike."

"Buffy Summers. Hi Spike."

"Hi Buffy." He growled as he stormed off. He sat down with his girlfriend, Dru, giving her a not-so-chaste kiss before the lunch monitor loudly cleared her throat in their direction. Spike sneered at the woman, who looked at his safety pins and black and stuck her nose in the air, moving to the other side of the cafeteria. The new girl, Buffy, had sat at a deserted table at first, and when he looked at her again, she'd disappeared. There was something about her. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he decided if she talked to him again he'd do the whole being friendly thing.

Buffy had run off to the bathroom, barely able to silence her tears in the bathroom stall. Needless to say, Buffy's day had not gone well after that. Math was way over her head, as usual, and the girls in her gym class had made fun of her name. Even her English teacher had seemed boring. How could a teacher seem boring on the first day? Spike was in that class with her, but they were seated alphabetically and so she couldn't try again with the friendship-making.

She'd gone home in a daze, done the brief "Who Am I" homework her various teachers had assigned, piled forms on her father's desk to be signed, and curled up on her bed. It was exactly one month since her mother had died. She stared at the dresser beside her bed, mentally tracing the curves in the grain again and again. The ache in her chest refused to numb. Restless, she sat up on her bed. It was time for a walk. She looked at the clock. 9:13. It was barely beginning to get dark.

"I'm going out for a while, Dad." She said as she passed his dozing form in the armchair in front of the television. His feet were propped on a still-unpacked box, his head lolled to the side, mouth slightly open. Not quite sure how to react to the sight, she watched him for a moment. The light from the TV gave him a deathly pallor, and she shuddered at this. She grabbed a throw from the back of the couch, something her grandmother had knitted, and draped it over his chest and lap. She took his glasses off his face, set them on the end table and pushed back the shock of sandy hair that had fallen over his forehead.

Minutes later she was walking down the street that was just beginning to become familiar to her. It was a cloudless evening, the sky still orange and pink and a little bit purple. Where to go? She didn't quite feel like exploring the neighborhood, just finding a place she could be. Some place that wasn't this new house filled with all their old furniture, so many pieces of their lives, still missing one central part.

Buffy reached the end of the street. She took a left. Reaching the end of that street, she took a right. She went on like this through the neighborhood, making arbitrary decisions. She'd passed a playground that had been abandoned for the night but had decided against stopping there. The comfort she might have felt before at such a sight was gone. She couldn't play anymore, not like she had before. There had also been a park, with a gazebo by a stream, but there had been a couple sitting in the gazebo, so she'd shied away. The end of another street. Right. She started to walk that way, then abruptly turned around and went left. No reason. There wasn't any need for a reason. There wasn't anyone around to explain her actions to. All there was was that ache in her chest.

Spike's first day of ninth grade has gone smashingly. He needed to celebrate. For the first time in quite a while he felt…less angry. He decided it was time to patch things up with a few people he'd been ignoring. "I'm going for a walk, Uncle Ru."

"Where?" Uncle Rupert looked up from his book.

"Not far."

"Don't stay out too late."

"Right." There was a moment's pause. "You turn on a light. Don't strain your eyes."

"Thank you," came the absentminded reply as Spike flicked on the light switch as he headed out the door. His uncle was already absorbed in his reading again.

He took a shortcut through his backyard and his neighbor's. Dusk was settling in, but it was still light enough that the streetlamps didn't make much of a difference. A sliver of the moon was out, and it was going to be a cloudless night.

Spike reached his destination and plopped down. He cleared his throat, looking expectantly at his audience.

"So, I haven't been around in a while. I've been busy. Got myself a girlfriend now, I do. Doing just fine on my own, don't you worry yourselves one bit. I'm fine, do you hear? And it's ok that you're not here. It's ok." He leaned against his mother's headstone. "I still miss you, don't worry about that." He heard a rustling sound somewhere nearby.

The girl from lunch appeared.

"Well, if it isn't the Shoe Police. Come to confiscate the offensive clodhoppers?"

She turned beet red. "I…I'm sorry. I didn't think anyone would be here. Wait, what are you doing here?"

He propped an elbow against his dad's grave. "Family reunion."

Her mouth flew open. "Oh my god. Oh my god. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" Do not cry, do not cry, she told herself as she sank to the ground.

"Whoa, calm down. It's been three years almost." What was with this girl?

"I just…Imumblemymumbleamonthmumblemumbleago." She lowered her eyes, but not before he saw tears.

"Pardon? I didn't catch what you said. Are you ok?"

She sighed, straightened her back a bit and picked a blade of grass. "I lost my mother a month ago."

Oh. Well. This sort of changed things. Was that what he had noticed about her earlier today? Don't be daft. You can't just instantly recognize something like that in a person. "I'm sorry. How did she die?"

Flinching, she replied, "Cancer." She looked up at him. "Yours?"

He drew in a breath. "Car accident. Back in the UK."

"Oh. Who are you living with now?"

"My uncle. My Da's brother."

"Oh."

They sat in silence for a while. She studied the twin headstones. His parents' names had been James and Anne. Anne had been almost ten years younger than James. She tried to figure out what else she could discern about this boy from the graves of his parents. She shuddered, realizing how morbid it all was.


	3. Potential

Chapter 3 Potential

In school the next day, Buffy was walking down the corridor to her locker when a goofy looking boy with floppy brown hair turned a corner and collided with her.

Buffy's reaction was a strangled "Ooof!" as she lost her footing.

Floppy Brown Hair bent to gather her bag and offer his hand to help her up. "I'm sorry. I always take that corner too fast and on the wrong side of the hall. Really, I'm just an accident waiting to happen. Can I make it up to you? You could be my golden goddess and I'd worship at your feet."

Buffy gave a bright smile to the highly caffeinated individual. "Hi, I'm Buffy Summers."

Floppy Brown Hair grinned from ear to ear. "Xander Harris; you know, that golden goddess thing has only ever gotten me irritated glares before."

"No! A line like that?"

"I know, I know," Xander threw up his hands resignedly; "I'm doomed to dorkdom."

"Well, it's nice to have found a kindred spirit at least." Her eyes flashed; finally, someone friendly and willing to banter with her!

"You? A dork? Never! Blasphemy!" His outraged cry was at least partially genuine. How had this luminous creature escaped the hell of popularity? Especially with a name like Buffy.

She solemnly shook her head. "I promise. I used to want to be Dorothy Hamill, haircut and all, and my favorite stuffed animal is a pig named Mr. Gordo."

He gave her his endearing smile again and held out his arm. "Well then, I must take you to our leader. Naturally, she is in the library."

Xander strolled her casually down the hall, past a group of kids who had congregated in front of their lockers in that age-old high school morning ritual. Buffy recognized a shock of bleached platinum hair at the center of the group. When she turned her head for confirmation, Xander noticed.

"Spike and Dru, Drusilla. What possessed her parents to give her that name the world will never know, but she has grown to enjoy it. They're the center of the school's crazy/sexy/cool group. Well, Dru is actually just crazy, and…"

"And Spike's sexy/cool?" Buffy finished for him.

"I was going to say he's cool. A little pale for my liking. Anyhow, the sexy one of the pack is Cordelia Chase. Unfortunately, she's also a raging bitch." He pointed out a gorgeous brunette leaning on a locker next to Spike and Dru, dressed in what was obviously expensive clothing in the latest fashion.

"Those three really don't look like they go together. Spike and Dru, maybe, they've got that goth thing going."

"Cordelia and Drusilla bonded over their hard-to-spell names in kindergarten, while their parents were bonding over their law firm and ever-expanding bank accounts. Those girls are the heiresses of the two richest families in Sunnydale. Spike is in the mix cause he's 'exotic', he's from England."

"Ah, now it makes sense."

"And here we are, the Sunnydale High school library. You'll learn to love it here." Xander swung the door open wide, revealing ornate woodwork and beautiful high ceilings. The room was circular, and in the center was a reading area where a redheaded girl was reading the top book off of a tall stack.

"You know, I'm not much for the book-learning, but this place is plush."

The girl looked up and broke into a huge smile. "Xander!" She was wearing a fuzzy green t-shirt and when she stood to greet her friend with a hug, Buffy could see that she also wore an orange skirt with matching orange and green striped tights. All Hail the Queen of the Dorks, she thought.

"Hi!" The girl chirruped at Buffy excitedly, "I'm Willow Rosenberg. I'm really glad to meet you."

Buffy smiled warmly at her. It was obvious to her now: anyone with that much energy was bound to wear equally dynamic clothing. "Glad to meet you, too. I'm Buffy Summers. So," she looked expectantly at her two newfound friends, "what year are you guys?"

"Sophomores." Willow gushed.

"Barely." Xander conceded.

"Xander and algebra don't get along very well."

"Algebra started it! All those xs and ys and other variables. I don't have to prove anything to algebra; I know I'm a worthwhile person!"

Ignoring what must have been a daily tirade, Willow instead asked to compare schedules with Buffy. As they poured over the computer printouts, a man Buffy instantly categorized as "librarian" shuffled into the room. "Hello," he called out in an unmistakable British accent, not looking over the rim of his mug of tea.

"Hi Mr. Giles! Did you know that we have a new student?" Willow went over to the checkout desk that the tweed-clad British man had disappeared behind.

"Yes Willow, I did," he replied, though underneath the desk his voice was a bit muffled. "Buffy Summers?" he queried as he popped back up.

"Present," Buffy replied.

"I believe I have a book for you," Mr. Giles said as he nonchalantly slid it across the counter.

Buffy sidled up to the desk and looked at the proffered tome. She groaned and rolled her eyes before reading the title aloud. "Europe Through the Ages. That sounds like some history I'm probably destined to repeat."

"I'll be your study-buddy, Buffy," Willow said.

"That's our Will," Xander replied, "always with the studying. Even if it's someone else's homework."

Buffy looked at the girl worshipfully. "Yep, glad I met you!"

The three students laughed and Mr. Giles cracked a faint smile as he crossed the room to re-shelve some books. Just as Xander started to the two girls a joke (Did you hear the one about two muffins sitting in an oven?), Spike strode into the library.

"Harris, you can tell that joke using any inanimate object on the planet. Don't be a git."

"Spike," Xander shot back, "you have to be British to qualify as a git, so that leaves me out of the running. You get my vote, though, don't worry."

"Hi Spike," Willow squeaked, the most subdued Buffy had seen her, but still clearly anxious to head off any confrontation brewing between the boys.

"Hey Red. Where's Rupes?" As he asked the question his gaze landed on Buffy. His cool blue eyes narrowed on her, and a half smile crept over his lips.

"In the back," Willow practically stammered.

"Thanks. Hi Buffy."

"Good morning, Spike."

"You two kno-know each other?"

Spike tilted his head and pursed his lips, considering his reply. "We recently found out that we have a few things in common."

Buffy visibly blanched at his reference to their conversation in the cemetery the night before. Recovering, she explained, "Spike and I met at lunch yesterday. I admired his choice in footwear." She shot Spike a warning glance, but he just smirked. She found herself vaguely irritated.

"Buffy wants to know where she can get herself a pair," Spike retorted, winking at her before heading into the stacks to seek out his uncle.

"I find him mildly infuriating," Xander said. The three headed out into the hallway as the bell sounded. "He's got an attitude problem."

"R-r-really, he's ok."

"Willow," Buffy said gently, "you're still stuttering."

"Popular people make me nervous. But Spike's always been nice to me. Oooh! Here we are, history class! See you later, Xander!" Willow bounded into the classroom with the enthusiasm of fifty puppies and took a seat at the front. Buffy hung back at the door.

"So, what's the sitch? Is he a real jerk or what?"

"Really?" Xander replied, looking quickly to see who was around, "Spike's not the one to watch out for. It's his vampire of a girlfriend who's a major pain. See you in lunch."


	4. Older and Far Away

Chapter 4

Older and Far Away

AN: When we last left our lovers, Buffy had just arrived in NY and fell promptly into bed with Spike, her best friend of many years. Then I gave a bunch of exposition that hopefully didn't feel like exposition that dealt with their time in Sunnydale. Now we're back in NY, the morning after.

I'd like to remind everyone that I still hold no claims to anything Joss Whedon, Buffy, Angel, Mutant Enemy or Twentieth Century Fox-related. This is not for profit, but for fun.

She lay in bed next to him, playing with his lighter. Flick. That little spurt of yellow flame. So hot that at the center it burned bright blue, like the eyes that were now opening and focusing on her. A smile played across his features.

"Morning, love." His arm snaked around her neck, pulling her down for a kiss. She melted into him, pressed against his chest, her thoughts spinning around that kiss. How long had it taken for them to reach that point of contact? How long had it taken for them to finally find some semblance of completion?

As they broke the kiss, she opened her eyes to find his fixed on her face, full of consternation. "What's going on inside that head, pet?"

"I was thinking of how I first met you." She was thinking of everything that had transpired to bring her here, into his embrace, into his bed.

He was so concerned. This had not been the reaction he'd been hoping for, this deep reverie she was in. He hadn't expected this distance to suddenly cleave the bed in two, leaving him reaching over the precipice for her. All he felt was cold and it unnerved him. Her green eyes found his once more, the clouded look gone. "Kiss me again." She pulled him back, shifting so that he had nowhere to go but above her. He settled his weight against the fulcrum of her hips, bracing himself on his forearms, and brought his head down.

God, she was perfect. Her lips on his sent an electric current through him, straight through every muscle, organ, sinew and bone. How it had taken him so long to realize that perfection was right there in front of him was beyond comprehension. Of course, things hadn't started out very well between them. Something about combat boots.

And now here he was, doing very friendly things with her. In his apartment. In his bed. It was amazing how much time had passed before they had realized just how much each needed the other. He opened his eyes, taking in her creamy skin, the way it so suggestively hugged her collarbone and the dip that followed. He kissed that hollow and licked up her collarbone, gently nipping at her shoulder. Then her perfect ear caught his attention. Why had he never noticed how wonderful her ears were? So small, so pink, so tasty. He kissed his way over to her ear and delighted in the moan it elicited from her. So she was still here. She hadn't slipped back into that other world. His tongue flicked out, determined to keep her with him, her thoughts on only him.

His hot breath filled her ear deliciously. It was as if there were a direct connection between there and her belly, which tightened as he lavished kisses on and around her ear. She ground her hips up against him almost unconsciously. She wanted more from him. She'd had no clue how much he had to give her, how much she'd wanted to give him, before. Last night had changed everything.

Her cell phone jangled from its holster on her belt. "You should get that, love. You didn't call anyone back home to let them know you'd arrived safely, did you?"

"No one knows I'm here, Spike."

"What?" His faced transformed as brows knit together over probing ice. "What's going on back home?"

Gently, she pushed him off of her, and he rolled onto his side, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on his bedside table. Something was poking the small of her back. She rooted around the sheets to find the culprit. They both let the cell phone continue to ring.

"Where the hell did my lighter go?" She handed it to him. He looked at her.

"I was playing with it before you woke up," she shrugged. He turned away, his beautiful hands cupped around the cigarette as a chill breeze stole through the room. She suddenly remembered how very naked she was. Wrapping a sheet around her small body, Buffy walked over to the window.

"Huh."

"What?"

"It's snowing." She stood transfixed.

"No kidding? Well, welcome to New York." He got up out of bed and went to her. He dragged the window closed, grimacing as it squealed against several coats of paint. Task accomplished, he wrapped his arms around her. "Now, please don't think that I'm not glad of it, but why are you here?"

"Spike…" There was a familiar weariness in her voice.

"I assume things aren't going well with what's-his-face, G.I. Whitebread."

"Hey you, Naked Boy, aren't you cold?" She slipped the sheet around him as well, enfolding them both in the white fabric.

He stubbed his cigarette out on the exposed brick lining the window. "Not with your warm little body pressed against me. And I'll take that as a yes to my question." Flyaway hairs tickled underneath his chin as she rested her head against his chest. The whisper of eyelashes brushing his collarbone made him swallow the lump that had formed instantaneously in his throat. "It's ok love. Just because we slept together last night doesn't mean we can't talk about relationship problems this morning. It's much more familiar territory, at least."

"Is that why you think I came here, Spike? Because I needed to talk to you about Riley and I?"

"Well, no, not really…"

"He proposed to me."

He choked on an intake of breath. "Congratulations."

She lifted her head to look at him, and the spot where it had rested buzzed with energy. He felt so alive, even when he was drowning in her. "Riley proposed to me and all I could think to do was hop on the next plane to New York. To you."

"Oh."

They lapsed into silence.

"Coffee?"

"Black, please."

Buffy looked at him over the rim of her mug. She wore one of his button-down shirts and nothing more. He'd never seen anyone more beautiful. He gulped his very hot drink.

Upon careful study of her left hand, Buffy discovered that one of her nails had escaped yesterday's airport massacre . This is working well, she thought. "This is working well," she said, and went back to biting her nail

"Well, Buffy, I'm not quite sure to make of your little bombshell. What's a bloke supposed to think? You're in a relationship serious enough to warrant a proposal or marriage and last night you were…we, Buffy, last night was the best damn sex I've ever had. And I've no clue if it was just you getting one last kick as a technically single gal or…" at this he hesitated, his chest constricting, "or if this is something more. Bigger." Buffy reached out her hand, resting it on his. The look in her eyes was warm, loving.

"It's bigger."


	5. Forever

She sat at the computer, staring at the words appearing on the screen. His words, filling the window, message after message. And she couldn't bring herself to reply. She couldn't bring herself to type the reassurances he so badly wanted to read. She looked at the phone, willing it not to ring. It did anyway. She was seventeen now, and receiving a very unwanted phone call.

"Buffy?" Her father called up the stairs, "its William."

"Thanks Dad," she replied. Steeling herself against what she was about to face, she gingerly picked up the phone. "Spike?"

A torrent of words assaulted her.

"What did I do? What did I do wrong? Buffy, tell me, you've got to know. One day we were fine and now this. I just don't know what happened. Please tell me what happened. Oh god I don't know what I'm going to do. The last four years. That's forever in high school! We were practically engaged! This can't be happening, it's not happening tell me it isn't happening oh god oh god oh god." The teenage voice sobbed into the phone. Buffy grimaced.

"Well, ok…I know that this logic train doesn't follow your particular track, but maybe this is best?"

"Best? Best? How can this be best, my heart's just been stomped all over and you say it's for the bloody best?"

"William," a voice could be heard in the background, "I have repeatedly asked you not to speak that way in my house."

"Right, sorry. Won't do it again." Spike sighed and returned his attention to the phone. "Buff, you gotta meet me. I have to talk to you, face to face."

Buffy looked at her clock. 10:27. This was going to be a long night. "Fine, I'll be at the end of the street in ten minutes."

"Oh, thank you. God, thank you. I really need to talk to you."

"No problem."

"Bring Kleenex, all we've got over here is sodding toilet paper."

"William!" The voice again, sharper.

"Sorry!"

So Buffy waited on the corner, kicking her feet at the long grass around the stop sign that a lawn mower had missed. She dug her hands into her sweatshirt pocket, twisting at the thick stack of tissues she'd brought. Her mind was another place entirely. Cautiously, she brought a hand up to brush against her lips.

Spike chose this time to burst nosily through a hedge on the other side of the street. His eyes, usually lined heavily in black, were red rimmed and shining. He nodded curtly at her, and she, used to this routine, started to walk with him. They walked side by side in silence, Buffy fidgeting with the tissues. Spike lit a cigarette. Buffy made a derisive noise.

"What happened to quitting?"

"I'm fucking stressed, if you hadn't noticed."

"Oh, so that gives you a 'Get Cancer Free' pass?"

"Damn straight."

"Let me see that pack. I wanna see what the warning says. " He handed it over. She casually let it fall it into a storm drain as they made a right onto another street and kept walking.

"Bitch. Those are getting expensive."

"So is chemotherapy."

They walked along in silence again. Spike watched the ash fly from the tip of his cigarette onto the asphalt each time he flicked it. He dropped the butt into another storm drain as they made their last turn. Left.

"Buffy, I just needed someone to talk to, you're the only one. You really are. And this thing with Dru. It's just all falling apart and I…and there's…Buffy, why is it all going wrong?"

Buffy sat against a marble headstone, watching her best friend pace angrily back and forth in front of her. Struggling to find words of comfort that wouldn't make him yell at her, she opted instead to be direct. "Well, first off, cut the teen angst crap." She put up a hand to silence him. "I'm not saying this just because I'm sick of it. It's no way to get Dru back, you know that. While she may love watching you writhe in torment at her feet, she's not gonna go back out with you if you're sniveling like you are at the present moment. Second, you might not get her back. You just might not. Sometimes people get taken away from us and we don't get them back. Remember? One of those harsh realities of life we babies learned all too young. And maybe, Spike, just maybe, this is what's supposed to happen. You're seventeen, a broken heart's not all that uncommon. But you'll fall in love again, you will," she finished breathlessly, looking up at him with hope shining in her eyes.

Spike stared. He clenched and unclenched his jaw. He started to pace, then stopped and stared at her again. He narrowed his blue eyes at her, cocked his head and pursed his lips.

"Who are you and what have you done with Buffy? And where the hell did you get that Rebecca of Sunny-hell Farm attitude?" He looked at her as she fidgeted, trying to come up with some sort of retort.

"Umm, well…it's my anniversary?" She offered.

"Yes, and usually that makes you all glowy. Come on, pet, I may be all wallowing in self-pity at the moment, but I'd have to be a bleedin' moron not to notice that you're…happy. Why are you happy?"

"Can't a girl be happy? I've adjusted fairly well in the years since I moved here, I think. I have friends, and extracurricular activities. And a library card. Which I don't use. I'm a very well adjusted teen. I am happy, I have been happy for a while now."

"Bullocks. That's all an act, you know that I know that. This is me you're talking to! And on the anniversary of your mother's death you're out here, giving me advice on my love life. Last year you were curled up in a ball on the couch. You made me watch The Princess Bride!"

"I thought you liked that movie?"

"Don't change the bloody subject, woman!"

She squealed and giggled. "Ok, ok, I didn't wanna bring it up, you being all lovelorn, but…there's this guy." Spike sat down heavily next to her. Her green eyes got wide. 'Ohhh, see, I really didn't want to say anything until things had calmed down on the Dru front. Now you're all sad."

"I'm not all sad. I'm stunned. I thought you had eschewed all boys?"

"I never said anything of the sort. I just said that I had yet to meet someone with any humanity at all." At the look he gave her, she added, "Er, aside from you and Xander and umm, Oz."

"And this boy that you've met that has humanity, his name is?"

"Angel."

"There's no Angel at school. Where the hell did you meet him? And what sort of nancy-boy name is Angel, anyways?"

"Are you jealous?"

"Not jealous. Protective. I just had my heart ripped out and I'm listening to you be all giddy about this guy and I don't want to see you get hurt, too. So who is he?"

"He's a sophomore in college. I met him this summer, when I took that art class at Sunnydale University. He was the TA. He's nineteen, and handsome, and very sweet. He asked me out on the last day of class. We've been on two dates and he's a perfect gentleman. He even stopped in to meet Dad when he dropped me off last night. I really like him, Will."

"Spike," he said, a warning tone in his voice.

"I really like him, Spike. God, what a ridiculous nickname. I hope you'll stop using it if this really is the end for you and Dru."

"Do you want it to be? Buffy, I understand that there's a new love interest in the picture and all, but even so you're very blasé about me losing the love of my life."

"Spike, I'm sorry. I know that Dru is very important to you. And that she's helped to umm, shape who you are right now…"

"But?" He prompted.

"But I don't like her. She's mean. And sort of crazy."

"She's different! And beautiful and Buffy for four years of my life I've loved her, I've been able to touch her and kiss her. It's true, she made me! She's the reason I am who I am. She's why I fucking breathe. I don't want anything else. Our love was eternal." He grabbed a tissue out of her hand and violently blew his nose. "And now you've gone and made me cry."

Buffy hugged him, and he hugged her back. "Well this is sort of a strange role reversal. Don't I usually cry on your shoulder?"

"Sod off, Summers. And don't mention this to anyone. Ever."

"Right. I promise."

"God I want a cigarette."

"But you don't want cancer, which is why you can't have one."


	6. Graduation Day

AN: I just wanted to thank people for their patience with this story. I hope the few readers I've garnered are still with me, I'm actually close to the end and expect it to be done before the end of November. So thank you, and I hope you enjoy the latest installment…

Buffy screamed at the top of her lungs as Spike pushed the accelerator all the way to the floor, speeding along the dirt road to the beach, where all their friends were waiting. It was graduation day. They were finally free.

"Spike, slow down! Spike, we're getting close, you need to slow down! SPIKE!" She screeched along with the tires, and glared at him hatefully for a full two seconds before they both burst out laughing.

"You jerk!"

"You were having fun there, too, Summers."

She stuck her tongue out at him, and he cocked an eyebrow. "Hey now, no fair advertising if you're not gonna…"

She turned bright red and smacked his arm. "Pig."

He laughed again. "Hey, pet, you can't blame a guy. I have been celibate for six months, you know."

"Yeah, yeah," she grumbled. "Celibacy's a bitch, whatever." Opening the car door, she got out, promptly slammed it, and started towards the bonfire in the distance."

"Summers, I didn't mean it like that. I just…oh, bloody hell, woman."

"Well Spike, I'm sure your six months of not getting any really sucks. You wanna know why I'm so sure? Oh, that's right, I've gone eighteen freaking years without it."

"Buffy." He caught up to her, took one of her hands in his. "Look, you know I didn't mean anything by it. It just slipped. I know you're still hurting over this thing with Angel…"

"Oh, you mean the guy who dumped me because he didn't want to have sex with me? No, no, I'm fine." She yanked her hand from his grasp and continued on to the party.

Spike looked up to the sky and groaned. "What the bloody fuck does she want me to do about it?"

By the time he'd caught up with her, she'd already downed half a cup of beer and fortunately, was ready to forgive him. The party wouldn't be as fun, he thought as she smiled brightly up at him, without his girl-friday at his side.

"Spiiiiike," Buffy sing-songed into her now empty cup, "Spikey. You should get me some more beer.

Sighing, he took the cup from her. "I'm not your bleedin' slave, you know."

"Nope!" She giggled, "But your cup is empty, too."

"Drunk Buffy is less fun than Regular Buffy," he muttered as he made his way to the keg. He filled their cups with as expertly as any high-school senior, and when he looked up, he was face-to-face with Drusilla.

"Hello, Spike."

"Dru."

"You're looking well."

"And you're looking bug-shagging crazy."

"Now, now, Spike. Is that any way to speak to your lover?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Dru, what was I thinking—wait a sec—yeah, yeah, it is if that 'lover' dumped you and has been toying with your ripped-out heart ever since."

Dru titled her head as she studied him. He hated when she did that, it was so damn predatory. And to think it used to turn him on…

"Don't have your heart," an eerie giggle sounded from her throat. "You gave it to someone else."

"You're drunk. And loony. But you're right about the first part. You don't have my heart, not anymore. Have a nice life."

Spike turned on his heel and walked back over to where Buffy sat with Willow, Oz and the others. Dru pouted, a whimper escaping her lips. He didn't even notice.

The rest of the party passed in a blur. After his breakup with Dru, Spike had spent more and more time hanging out with Buffy's friends. They hadn't really understood Buffy's relationship with him before that, but he was accepted into the fold easily enough. A solid truce had even developed between him and Xander. On this night, Spike felt truly a part of the group, and it surprised him to realize just how much he had wanted that. He had only begun hanging around them because of Buffy; she'd made it her personal mission to drag him out of his depression. The entire gang had decided the week before that after the party wound down they'd all set up camp on the beach and sleep off whatever state they happened to be in. It made the parents happy to think that no one would be driving, and an entire night away from any supervision was just what the kids all needed after several weeks preparing for and taking finals.

Now as, he trudged back to his car, Spike spun around to look at Buffy as she followed gamely over the dunes to retrieve their sleeping bags. Dawn was beginning to pink the sky to the east, and in the light of the hazy morning he could see very clearly that her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. Her top clung to every curve, curves that he hadn't realized she'd had until now. In his eyes she'd still been the fourteen-year old with the blondish-brownish hair and plump cheeks. At some point, though, she'd grown up. Spike wondered if he had, too. And if so, did she see him any differently from the skinny boy he'd been? It threw him to find how desperately he hoped so.

As he swallowed the lump that had grown in his throat, Buffy looked up at him. They had reached the car, yet he just stood there dumbly with his keys in his hand. She wobbled over to his side, still a bit tipsy. They both were, she knew, but Spike was better at hiding it. "What's up?"

Spike narrowed his eyes before replying, "Nothing."

"Nuh-uh." Buffy shook her head. "That's not nothing-face, it's…"

He silenced her with a hard kiss on the mouth, drew her close so that she molded against him.

"…something-face," she finished dazedly, before she pulled him back in for another kiss, softer and slower and longer. Her fingers threaded in his hair and she marveled at the tang of his tongue, the way his teeth nipped ever so gently at her bottom lip. Kissing Angel hadn't been like this, she thought as his hands gripped her hips, grinding them against his. Spike kissed her like he wasn't afraid she'd break. He kissed her like she was really there. And it felt good. If she had known kissing her best friend would feel this good, she would have started doing it a long time ago. Mmmm. And never stopped. She fumbled for the door handle behind her, had difficulty with the latch while still pressed against the car, but still managed to swing it wide open and pull Spike into the backseat and on top of her.

He wound his arms around her, one hand in her mussed honey-blonde hair and the other at the small of her back, pulling her as tight to him as possible. She broke away and trailed a burning path of kisses down the side of his face and throat. It felt so right having him over her. Her hands ran up and down his back. She stroked the short, velvety hairs at the base of his neck. Spike groaned as she bit his ear, her hot breath sounding a sigh as his hand found its way under her shirt and bra. He kneaded her breast while his lips found hers again. God, she was perfect. Her lips sent an electric current through him, straight through every muscle, organ, sinew and bone. He rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and she moaned, her hands pulling frantically at the hem of his t-shirt. This was rapidly approaching the point where they were likely to regret something in the morning, but neither of them stopped to think about it. Spike shucked his shirt over his head and Buffy's hands flew to the buttons of her own shirt, fumbling at them for a few seconds before she popped one clean off. Spike moved to help her, his hands steadier, and together they made short work of the garment. Her bra, a lavender cotton number, clasped in the front, much to Spike's utter delight. Soon he was face to face with breasts he had only realized she possessed a quarter of an hour before, and they were perfect. She squealed as he attacked them with a growl, but he had her moaning shortly as his tongue and teeth mimicked the earlier actions of his hands.

In all the time she and Angel had spent together, visiting all the bases save one, it had never been like this. Everything with Angel was so serious. He had been her first for practically everything, after all, and it had all felt so momentous at the time. But here, now, with Spike, it was such fun. They fumbled and laughed and tickled their way out of their clothes. Before undoing the button on her cropped jeans, he even blew a raspberry on her stomach. He had her laughing so hard tears came, and then he licked them away, making her giggle more. They barely noticed the intimate state they were now in, both of them naked and obviously aroused as they continued to kiss and nip at each other playfully. When Buffy felt the tip of his erection slip between her folds, though, she broke away from his lips and looked up at him solemnly. They were both panting, and Spike rested his forehead against hers.

"So love, it seems like we're more than friends."

"Seems like."

"We can stop now, if you want." He averted his eyes, suddenly bashful. "It's not like I was expecting this, yeah? I don't have any protection, anyways." He went to pull away, but her arms encircled him tightly.

"Don't."

He looked at her, startled. Her green eyes shone with something he couldn't quite place. Then, she whispered the sexiest words he'd ever heard in his young life:

"It's ok. I'm on the pill."

"You sure, love? Don't you want…"

"I want you," she asserted, pulling him down for a kiss, "I'm here with you."

That was all the assurance he needed. He settled himself back between her thighs and reached a hand down between them. She was already soaking wet, but he wanted to make this as painless as possible for her, so he slipped a finger insider her, pumping gently before he added another and another. The pad of his thumb brushed her clit and she let out a low moan that sent a shiver up his spine. He built up the pressure and speed until she was shaking beneath him, then stopped, bringing his hand to his mouth to taste her. She whimpered, a pout forming on her lips.

"Shh, love. I'll take care of you," he purred as he crawled down her body and took his first long, slow taste of her pussy. She yelped and squirmed and he chuckled, closing his lips around her clit. The vibrations from his low laugh had her higher than his wonderful fingers had moments ago, and then he added his fingers back into the equation. She came with his name on her lips, and while she was still hazy and sated he moved over her again and replaced his fingers with the head of his penis. She bucked against him and he pushed slowly inside, then stopped all movement. Buffy's breath came in harsh pants as he rained kisses over her face, neck and chest.

She began to kiss him back and roll her hips beneath him. He hazarded a few shallow, experimental thrusts and was rewarded with another throaty moan. Emboldened, he built up to a steady rhythm. She felt wonderful around him, hot and tight and her hands wandered up and down his back, scratching and squeezing as they both neared release. Wanting her to come again, he slipped a hand between them and pressed a finger to her clit as his own thrusts became more erratic. She gasped and he groaned and then they were both spent.

He reached to the floor of the car and pulled up one of the sleeping bags, draping it over the both of them. She sighed in contentment as he nestled his head against her breasts. He couldn't resist palming one breast, and she giggled a little before turning her face to his for one more kiss.


	7. Pangs

A/N: So this is a short chapter, but as I try to keep flashbacks and present storylines separate, I feel it says as much as it needs to say.

Chapter 7Pangs

"This is big, Spike. It's always been big."

He nodded, knowing exactly what she was saying. That night, that last night…He'd always thought it was just two crazy high school kids, freshly graduated, liberated. No. He'd always told himself that's what it was. "So, you want some breakfast or something?"

Her brow furrowed. "You don't wanna talk about this?"

He stood and placed a lingering kiss to her forehead, breathing in the scent of her at the same time. "We've got time for that, love."

"We do," she smiled.

"Now, if I recall correctly, you're more of an omelets than pancakes girl."

"You know it. With lots of cheese."

"Coming right up."

Buffy reached up to kiss him on the nose. "I'm gonna go check my messages."

"Ok, pet." He watched her dance out the kitchen door, chuckling to himself. _Well you are just buggered right and proper. And you have been since tenth grade._

"It was Willow!" She yelled from the bedroom. "I'm just gonna call her real quick!"

"Tell her I said hey!" Satisfied that it wasn't Captain Cardboard, he turned to the task at hand. If Buffy wanted a cheesy omelet, a cheesy omelet she would get.

It was done by the time she came back into the kitchen with much less enthusiasm than when she had exited. Numbly, she hung up the phone. Spike, seated at the table, looked up at her with a smile.

"What did Willow want, love?"

"Dad's sick," she mechanically replied, staring at the floor. A wave of nausea hit her, and she rushed to the bathroom. She shut the door and gripped the edges of the sink, breathing heavily. Her entire body shook, and then as suddenly as it had arrived, the sick feeling passed. Serenely she straightened her back. She looked into the mirror. Be strong, she admonished her reflection.

Spike leapt up from his seat as she emerged, concern marking his face like a flag. "I've called the airline. The next flight out is tonight at nine, I've booked us two tickets."

"Oh, Spike," she hesitated, "thank you , but you don't have to come with me."

"I want to, kitten."

"No, you're just being nice. Besides, I can handle this. It's my father. I'll be fine." As she blew him off, Buffy marched through the apartment to the bedroom, where she began to pack her things.

"Love, let me come with you. I can help."

She looked at him sharply. "What can you do to help? He's had a stroke and has yet to wake up. Are you going to wake him?"

"I want to be there for you. I love you. I want to help you. There's only one thing I've ever been sure of: You." He drew in a breath, taking in her shocked expression, but decided to press on. "Look at me. I'm not asking you for anything. When I say I love you, it's not because I want you or because I can't have you. It has nothing to do with me. I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You're The One, Buffy."

Tears threatened to spill as she gathered up her bags and calmly walked out. Spike just watched her go.

The flight back to California for Buffy was filled with much of the same feelings as before: trepidation, guilt, anxiety and a great deal of sadness. How could she have just walked out on him after all the wonderful things he'd said? Why was she always pushing people away when she needed them the most? She'd done it to Riley, too. But he'd never opened himself up to her entirely, either. _I'm still making excuses,_ she thought while a man in a suit snored next to her, _I've always cut myself off, always. Losing my mother made me different, but it's my fault I stayed that way. People are always trying to connect to me, I just slip away. Just like today._

Willow met her at the airport and drove her back to Sunnydale. The concerned redhead tried to chat with Buffy during the car ride, but she had slipped away again and only answered in monosyllabic phrases.

"Geeze Buff," Willow quipped, "if I'd have known you'd be so quiet I would have brought Oz along for the ride."

Buffy looked up at her like a deer caught in headlights. Immediately Willow realized that she'd said something wrong.

"Hey, I'm not complaining. You've got a lot on your mind. Go back to Buffyland."

"No Will, you're right. I'm sorry I've been so resistant to conversation when you've been so wonderful to come and pick me up." She took a deep breath and looked sideways at her friend. "Spike wanted to come back with me and I told him not to. He says he's in love with me."

"Buffy, I don't understand."

"He's he first person since…Angel that's made me feel anything and I refused to let him help me. I walked out on the man I love because I'm scared, and now he's across the continent and I think I've made a horrible mistake." Finally she felt the tears being to flow. All internal dams broke loose and she sobbed uncontrollably as Willow pulled into the hospital parking lot.


	8. The Body

A/N: If I keep these updates coming, can I get some reviews? They're lovely, like hugs and puppies. Give the gift of hugs and puppies.

My stats say that chapter 4 is the least read chapter in this story. Any thoughts on why that is?

One last thing: Thank you so much for reading. I was so worried that no one would.

Buffy couldn't believe her eyes. So she shut them. Hard. She squeezed her lids so tight together her eyelashes hurt. She breathed slowly in through her nose and out through her mouth, and then she opened her eyes again.

Angel was still there, lying on their bed. He'd dressed all in black, his typical fare: slim pants and a close-cut button down shirt. His hair was done in his trademark style, gelled up in the front. Around his neck, above the silver necklace that had been her present to him on their third anniversary, was a length of black rope tied to the headboard behind him.

Buffy took in all this, but her gaze lingered on his eyes. They were open and staring sightlessly at her, an expression of surprise apparent in them. She doubled over and vomited onto the rug. Slouching to the floor, Buffy closed her eyes again, and went somewhere else.

Buffy walked along the beach, the sun warming her shoulders, with Angel beside her. He wore a white shirt and smiled at her whenever she looked up at him. It had been so long since they'd been out in the sun together. Working on this latest show had him up all night, every night painting in his basement studio. He never worked during the day anymore, and she was working at a small gallery during the day and TGI Friday's in the evening. But today, she had the day off from both jobs and Angel had just received his latest advance. He finished a piece early last night, he'd come back to their bed, and they'd made love until they both passed out. They both woke up covered in streaks of red and purple and the sheets were ruined. After a very long shower which had used up all the hot water, they'd packed up some cheese, bread and a bottle of wine and headed to the beach. This was the sort of life she had dreamed she'd live with him; wine and cheese and paint and sun, making love after painting, during painting. This was the sort of life they got to live, occasionally. When she wasn't scraping to make ends meet and he wasn't…not himself.

Buffy loved Angel with everything she had. He was her first love, her first everything, practically. They'd spent that one summer apart because Angel hadn't wanted her to miss out on really experiencing life, having the typical college experience. But when she started the fall semester at Sunnydale University, they just kept running into each other. and so they fell into an uneasy friendship until one night, at the end of the semester, they wound up being the last students at work in the studio. Angel was stuck on a piece he intended to submit for a final project, and he'd wandered over to Buffy's station to watch her work. One thing led to another, and he made love to her that night on the studio floor. They had been together ever since, through a lot of ups and downs. More downs than she'd anticipated, but hey, they were artists. Tempestuous relationships came with the territory. So many artists, amazing artists throughout history were also notorious for their bad tempers. Their mood swings. And Angel was an amazing artist. And he always made up for the bad times.

She didn't think he'd be able to make up for this one, though, she thought as she opened her eyes and found herself back in their bedroom. As she staggered to her feet, a hoarse sob echoed through the room. Buffy didn't realize that she was the one crying until the 911 operator had asked what her emergency was. And then she only sobbed harder.

"Hello? Are you hurt?"

"No," she managed to reply. "But you need to send someone right now."

"Ma'am, I need you to tell me what the problem is."

"He's…he's…oh, god, he's dead."

"Someone has died?"

Buffy nodded before she remembered that she was on the phone. "I came home and found him. He's blue."

"I'm sending someone right away. Have you checked to see if there is something blocking the airway?"

"No."

"You should do that now."

"No, he did it."

"Pardon?"

"He…he…did it."

"Are you telling me that this was a suicide?"

Buffy nodded again. She couldn't help herself. "He left me."

"An ambulance is on the way. If there's no pulse and they're not breathing, it's likely there's nothing you can do. Try not to move the body, all right? I know this is difficult for you…"

At this, Buffy gave a hollow laugh.

"Ma'am, I'm alerting the paramedics to give you several pamphlets and information on support groups. If your…friend has indeed committed suicide, I think you might find it helpful."

"I should have been here."

"That's a common feeling, ma'am."

"I could have stopped him."

"You don't know that."

Buffy was going to argue, but she heard sirens approaching. "They're here. Thank you for your help." She hung up without waiting for a reply.

Time passed in a blur, and suddenly it was one in the morning. Buffy was sobbing again, and Willow was holding her. She stroked her hair and shushed her like a child, and Buffy cried all the harder. Her thumb kept worrying the ring on her left hand. It hadn't been an engagement ring, not really. But Angel had given it to her when she'd graduated from college, telling her that someday he'd replace it with a diamond.

Buffy didn't want a diamond. Diamonds were cold, like he was now. She'd never want a diamond again.

Funeral arrangements were made. Angel hadn't had much family, but his and Buffy's friends turned out in full force. The wake was held at Buffy's father's house. She'd just sat on the couch, numbly accepting condolences, hugs, pats on the shoulder. Her father, the only person she knew who'd suffered a similar loss, hung back in a corner, afraid to look at her. Mr. Giles had come by, though, and he was the only one to break Buffy from her fog.

"Hello, dear."

"Giles." She'd leapt up to hug him, tears leaking again.

He'd handed her a handkerchief, motioned for her to sit again. He sat beside her. "I am so, so sorry."

She nodded. "Everyone is."

"You two were…very deeply in love. We all saw it."

"Thank you." _So why did he leave me?_

"I called William."

"Spike?" A frown creased her brow. They hadn't spoken in years…

"Erm, yes. He sends his condolences, as well."

"How is he?"

"Oh, he's doing very well for himself." The older man's face lit with fatherly pride. "He's got a very good job at a publishing company, and he's writing a column as well. He very much loves New York…"

"But not so much that he wouldn't come back if an old friend needed him."

Buffy turned her head to the foyer, where Spike stood in all his punk glory. Not even a funeral could get him to trade in the dark jeans and tee for a shirt and tie, apparently.

"Spike?"

"In the flesh," he said gently as he came to kneel in front of her.

"Long time, no see," she quipped, but it was without any humor. Or anger. Or any emotion at all, in fact.

"I'm sorry I missed the funeral, love. I would have liked to have been there for you."

A familiar sensation began to drill into Buffy's temples. 'Well, you're here now. Excuse me, won't you? I need a drink. Badly." She got up and ran out of the room.

"William," Giles said as he reached for his glasses to clean them, "what have you done this time?"

Spike's eyes were wide with confusion. "I have no idea, Uncle Ru," he said as he got up to follow her.


	9. Homecoming

_A/N: So this is it. Last chapter. I'm pretty happy with myself just for finishing it, considering how long it took, but also I'm pleased with the ending. I think it's true to the story I've been writing. _

Buffy spent the night in the hospital at her father's bedside. They'd come a long way in the past year, so to lose him now…Buffy didn't want to think about it. Not after she'd just walked out on arguably the best man she'd ever had in her life or ever would have.

"Buffy?" Willow stepped cautiously into the room. "I brought you a change of clothes. Dropped your bag off at your apartment, too. How's he doing?"

"He's alive. Just waiting for him to wake up now, see how badly it affected him."

"Well, alive is good at least. So, listen, Riley's called twice since you've been back. I, um, well, I thought maybe you didn't want him to know, since you didn't want him to know where you went in the first place, so I just let the machine get it. He's really worried about you, Buff."

Buffy turned then to look at her friend, her pale face streaked with old tears. "That makes two of us, then," she smiled wanly.

"Oh, Buff, it's totally normal to get freaked out over a marriage proposal. It's a big life change, and you've already had plenty of those."

"I don't love him, Wills."

That rendered the redhead speechless. For a minute. "Oh, see, good reason to freak. I think I might have ran all the way to Zimbabwe, so good for you for staying within the continental United States."

Willow always could get her to giggle. After graduating from high school, their friendship had only strengthened, until there was no one Buffy was closer to. No one except Spike, she realized now, but she'd actually given up on that friendship after she'd freaked out on him for showing up after Angel's funeral. It was funny, though, how much time you could spend apart from a person and still find that your relationship hadn't changed at all. This was the kind of friendship she had with Spike, and the kind she had with Wills, too. She'd just destroyed one, so she was going to cherish the other as best she could.

"Thanks for being here, Wills." Buffy settled back into the wooden armchair as best she could. "It really means a lot to me. I don't have many people in my life that would stick by me through all my craziness."

"Oh, you have more than you think. But the gratitude is dually noted. So, since we're playing the waiting game, do you wanna talk some more about this Spike/Riley thing? Not to push or anything, but Riley's gonna wear out my machine before much longer, and it seems like you've got a pretty big decision to make."

"That's just it, Will. I don't."

"You don't?"

Buffy shook her head and reached up to redo her ponytail while she searched for the words to explain. "I just…after these past few days, it's very clear to me that there is no choice. I don't love Riley, therefore I can't marry him. Actually, I can't continue to date him, period."

"Ok. That makes total sense. But…" Her friend hesitated, her eyes flickering unsurely over Buffy's face.

"But what?"

"But what about Spike?"

This is where things got sticky. Her eyes filled with tears and she started to get a headache even at the mention of his name. She exhaled a shaky breath and willed her to continue. No more shutting people out. "I don't know about Spike. What we have is so…so, so wonderful. And scary. No one should know me that well after, what? Seven years? It's been seven years since we really spent any quality time together, Wills, and yet…it's still so easy with him. No like at Angel's funeral, I was so messed up then that I didn't know what I was saying…"

"I seem to remember it was something about him being an opportunist, showing up when Angel was out of the picture again."

Buffy winced. "Yeah, that. Like I said, I was messed up. And I didn't want him to be so good to me. I didn't feel like I deserved it. I mean, Angel had just left me. Sure, he was manic depressive and it really, really wasn't my fault, but it still had me completely fucked over. So to have this wonderful man come back into my life at that moment, it was like some sort of cruel joke. Like whatever powers that be were taunting me with what I could have had, showing me what I didn't deserve to have."

"Oh, Buffy…"

She held up a hand to silence her. "No, I know. After several thousands of dollars of therapy, believe me, I know I deserve to be loved, and loved well. I just never believed I'd find it again. What I'd found with Riley was…comfortable. He was nice, and sweet. And very stable. That's what I wanted, the comfort and stability. I didn't think the love and passion could be part of the package. But it is with Spike. It's all part of the package with him, believe me. Twenty-four hours with him has rocked my entire world, and let me tell you: if I thought Riley's proposal was freaksome, this is completely off the freak-o-meter."

Willow nodded her assent. "So that's why you turned down his offer to come back? You were freaked?"

"Beyond the telling. And so what do I do? The same thing I always do when Spike's amazingness freaks me out, I tell him I don't need him in my life. God, what is my damage?" Buffy was up and pacing now, too agitated to endure the torture of hospital furniture any longer. "I drove him away when we were eighteen. I should have known then, after graduation day, when we slept together and it was the most incredible night of my life. But you know, I thought that would be enough. I mean, he went all the way to the other side of the country. I thought I was rid of the one person who dared climb past my walls. But then Angel died and he came running back to my side. I should have known then, after I screamed at him and accused him of all sorts of awful things and _still_ he held me when I broke down crying. But he left the next day when I asked him to and I thought _that _would be enough. But no, three years later I call him up out of the blue and he says 'Don't worry love, I'll be at the airport waiting for you.' And then he _is_. And he's amazing again, and the sex is amazing and then he tells me we can talk about everything with Riley. I mean the man is a saint, a god. So what do I do? I run. Because I think he's the One, I really do. But I've used up my chances. I think that's it. I mean, third time's a charm, right?" She was crying full out now, tears streaming down her face and neck. She even felt snot running from her nose, but she was too caught up to care.

"Ummm, Buffy," Willow said, her eyes wide with surprise, "I don't…"

"No, Wills, that's it, I've pushed too far this time."

"I think you've sorely underestimated just how thick my skull is, pet." Buffy gaped at him, frozen in her tracks. "Come on, love. Have you ever known me to give up that easily?" Spike sauntered into the room, suitcase in hand. "I came here right from the airport. Traded in my ticket for a later flight."

"Spike…why?"

"Well, firstly, I rarely come back to SunnyD. I figured it was time for a trip out here. Uncle Ru's getting on, you know, I can't expect him to always be the one doing the traveling. Besides," he said, ducking his head shyly for probably the first time in, oh, ten years or so, "I had to see about a girl. I love her, you see, and I finally realized how much, so…" He was cut off by one hundred and fifteen pounds of Buffy Summers launching into his arms. "Hey now, pet," he reached into his pocket for a tissue, "I meant what I said. And believe me, I've put up with far worse than what you can dish out. Listen to me: Last night was the best night of my life. And I'm not talking about the sex, bloody amazing as it was. I'm talking about after you fell asleep. I've never been so close to anyone, and I just held you. Watched you sleep. So yeah, forgive me if I don't give up after you walk out on me. I couldn't leave it at that. I know you, Buffy. I know men have left you before, and I know you're scared that this might be real. Believe me, I'm terrified, too. But I've been in love with you since that night on the beach and since I only just found out myself, I couldn't let you go that easy."

"Oh, Spike," she said, muffled against his chest, "I don't know how to begin to apologize…"

"Well, just don't try to send me packing again. I came out here cause I had to make sure you were ok, but if you asked me to leave again, I would, Buffy." He cradled her face between his hands, wiping away tears with the pad of his thumb. "I couldn't bear to think of you going through something like this again without me being here for you, but if you really and truly wanted me out of your life, I'd go."

She shook her head violently. "No. Nuh-uh. Don't you dare. I need you, mister."

He chuckled at that, and leaned in for a chaste kiss. "Ok then," he agreed. "That's that."

Buffy snuggled her head against his chest again and breathed in deeply. Spike smell. As dear to her as home. Because he _was_ home. She got that now, and she wasn't going to forget. "I love you, Spike."

"I love you, too, Buffy," he said as he bundled her into his lap, settling down to wait with her in the hospital room. "I won't leave you."

"I know." Her head resting in the crook of his neck, she took another deep breath. "You're home."


End file.
